LITMIR.BIZ

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about his late parents? Why he had mentioned his twin brother only in passing? Because what was the point in her knowing stuff—dark stuff—which might affect the way she viewed life here at the palace?

      But his heart still clenched as he acknowledged the empty space where his brother should have stood, on the opposite side of the gilded throne room. The runaway twin who had left his desert home at the earliest opportunity, never to return. His no-show today had come as no real surprise, though Kulal couldn’t deny the dull beat of disappointment. Had Haydar been shocked at his twin’s sudden decision to take a bride—a move which had been made clear when Kulal had confided that Hannah was pregnant? He had wondered whether the baby news would take some of the pressure off his brother, would make him forget about the unbearable reality of their own upbringing. Yet he had not succeeded and it seemed Haydar was determined to continue with his self-imposed exile from his homeland.

      But Kulal would not think of that today. He would think only of a duty which had been forced upon him and which he must now make the best of.

      He stared down at the top of Hannah’s head and the fine golden mesh which covered her shiny hair. In England, she had hinted that theirs might be a marriage in name only—but that was something he refused to countenance. Their union would be consummated, he decided grimly, because a satisfied woman was a compliant woman. He would keep her sweet until their child was born.

      And after that, she could do whatever the hell she wanted.

      He spoke his vows without emotion, hearing Hannah repeat hers through the English interpreter which had been provided by her embassy. He felt her hand tremble as he slid the gold and ruby ring on her finger and turned her huge aquamarine eyes to his.

      ‘You are now my wife,’ he said, and as the interpreter translated his words into English the entire international congregation broke into spontaneous applause. He saw the way her teeth slid into her bottom lip, in that way women sometimes had of expressing pleasure. Was she revelling in the fact that she now wore a priceless wedding band and people were bowing and curtseying to her? Was this marriage what she had wanted all along—and all that hesitation false? ‘Happy?’ he questioned, aware of people around them listening and feeling it his duty to echo the usual sentiments of the bridegroom.

      Looking up into Kulal’s black eyes, Hannah didn’t want to answer. She suspected he hadn’t forgotten the bright assertion she’d made that happiness was overrated—just as she suspected he had only asked the question because there were lots of people milling around them. But then he lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them, his gaze not leaving her face, and in that moment the truth became blurred. She felt a familiar warmth rush through her veins and, beneath the heavy gold dress, her nipples tightened. And suddenly it was easier to focus on the cravings of her body rather than the emptiness in her heart. If she concentrated on desire, which was starting to lick over her skin like a low-grade fever, rather than the fact that Kulal didn’t care for her, wasn’t it almost possible to feel the thing she didn’t really believe in?

      ‘Very happy,’ she said.

      His hawk-like features hardened and his eyes darkened. He moved his hand to her waist, his thumb softly stroking at the metallic indentation before propelling her towards a gilded anteroom, where silent servants were circulating with trays of drinks. ‘Then let’s do what we need to do,’ he said roughly. ‘Let’s play out this pantomime to the full until I can get you alone.’

      Hannah’s throat was dry with sudden nerves as she was introduced to guest after stellar guest, but it wasn’t social unease which was making her feel jittery. It was the unmistakable message of sexual intent which glittered from Kulal’s black eyes whenever he looked at her—which was a lot. Had she really been naïve enough to think that theirs might be a marriage in name only? She found herself wondering if it was obvious to everyone else that the desert King was looking on his new bride with unashamed lust.

       And that she was feeling exactly the same way about him.

      The wedding feast took place in an enormous dining gallery, with musicians playing a kind of dreamy music she’d never heard before. One elaborate course followed another—so many that Hannah lost count. But she only picked at the delicious fare, because her weighty golden gown didn’t exactly provide a lot of room for expansion. Nobody had actually mentioned her pregnancy—she supposed nobody would dare—but it must have been obvious to anyone, especially to the Zahristan dressmaker who had been dispatched to London to make her wedding gown.

      Following a fulsome speech from the country’s Prime Minister and then a few heavily edited anecdotes from Salvatore, she and Kulal stood up to raise their jewel-encrusted goblets in a toast, before entwining arms so that they could drink from each other’s cup. Afterwards, Kulal clasped her fingers in his and led her onto the dance floor. But this was nothing like the private dance they’d shared in Sardinia when they’d been watched by nothing but the silver moon. Now she felt like an exhibit in the zoo as all the guests circled to watch their shimmering movements. Were they observing her bulky silhouette? She was just sixteen weeks pregnant, but her tiny stature made her look much further ahead in her pregnancy than she really was.

      And all the longing which had been building up inside her began to evaporate beneath the spotlight of the spectators’ stares. Perhaps they were thinking that Kulal had fallen for the oldest trick in the book—though they’d probably be even more appalled if they realised that theirs had been a one-night relationship. Looking around in vain for the encouraging smile of her sister, Hannah felt like a mannequin in her new husband’s arms. She was relieved when finally he led her from the vaulted gallery, past the bowing servants who lined the corridors as they made their way towards Kulal’s private rooms. Hers, too, from now on, she reminded herself grimly.

      But for how long?

      As he gestured her inside, Hannah looked around. She’d only been in the palace for a week—which had been spent in her own lavish quarters on the other side of the palace. She had been more than comfortable there, close to the palace’s vast central courtyard, where peacocks wandered amid orange trees and the air was fragrant with the heady perfume of gardenia. Kulal had given her a guided tour of all the state rooms, as well as the dimly lit library with all its ancient books, and she remembered her momentary burst of pleasure as she’d realised that here were all the tools to continue her learning. He had shown her the throne room and the crown jewels—to which she would have unfettered access as his new bride. After that, he had taken her to the state-of-the-art stables, as well as the garage complex with a fleet of cars which could have graced any international Grand Prix circuit.

      But nothing could compete with the splendour of the King’s private residence with its soaring pillars and gilded rooms which each flowed seamlessly into the next. Low velvet divans were scattered with brocade cushions and faded silk rugs were strewn over the floors. Intricate silver lanterns hung from the vaulted gleam of the golden ceiling and the air was richly scented with incense.

      ‘You look subdued, Hannah,’ Kulal observed softly as the massive doors clanged shut behind them, leaving them alone at last. ‘Does the thought of your wedding night fill you with trepidation?’

      She met his ebony gaze and remembered what it had been like when she’d used to clean for him in Sardinia, when her days had seemed impossibly simple and free from care compared to now. When he’d shown her his country on the map and talked about mountains and rivers and the rare, pink-tinted Zahristan deer which drank at the crystal streams, and which you could sometimes observe if you were very quiet. Sometimes he would actually ask her opinion about something and his eyes used to gleam with humour when she told it the way it really was. When she’d talked to him as if he were just a normal man, rather than a royal potentate. Couldn’t she do that now?

      ‘I’m scared I’m going to get lost among all these marble corridors,’ she admitted.

      A brief smile played on his lips but, visibly, he seemed to relax. ‘And that’s all?’

      No, of course it wasn’t all. She was terrified of the wedding night which lay ahead, despite the desire which was never far from the surface. Terrified that

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